Say farewell brothers
by Geeksisters
Summary: „... uncertain is every return." Some goodbyes are forever. BBC-Musketeers, One-Shot, WARNING: explicit tissue alarm!, can also be read separate from the TV-Series


„ **Say farewell brothers..."**

„ _This is the day of the dead..."_

The ambush is badly organized and their attackers are vastly outnumbered. But all this is irrelevant, because although they are able to easily smother the uproar, the chaos is great.

Everything starts with some gun shots and the horses rear in panic. The duke's carriage loses its balance on the bumpy road. When Athos drives his rapier in the bandit's chest and the clash of the blades stops, but not the hectic shouts or the panicked neighing of a horse, he realizes that something is wrong.

The noise is deafening, yelling and neighing and wood that bursts and is broken. The carriage has buried one of its guards together with his horse. There is blood, and limbs, strewn in a strange way. He recognizes the boots. He knows them.

"We need to lift the carriage," somebody roars and Athos needs a moment to realize that it was him. He is ignored, until a shot rings out and silence reigns for a moment.

Then the shouts continue, not the neighing, and suddenly d'Artagnan is next to him.

"We take this side, Betrand takes the other. Aramis? Aramis!"

Just now he sees Aramis, standing to the other side of the carriage holding a pistol.

He probably did release the horse from its pain. His look is blank and he doesn't react to d'Artagnan's shouts. He just stands there.

"Aramis!" d'Artagnan tries again, but nothing happens and they can't wait.

They try to lift the carriage, it is almost impossible. Athos' hands are bloody, full of splinters and his arms are trembling but he can't stop. Eventually the wooden hulk is moved. It is too late.

They are too late. They couldn't save him; only wrap the lifeless body into a shroud, every part of it.

No, no body, Athos corrects himself, a human being, a comrade, a brother... he can't think the name, doesn't dare to let his thoughts roam free when he lays the cloth over the battered face. When he looks up he sees that Aramis hasn't moved an inch, but his look is now directed at him and Athos isn't sure what he can read in it... or wants to read.

"Why didn't you do anything?" Athos wants to know. "WHY DIDN'T YOU DO ANYTHING?"

He doesn't get an answer.

They don't talk to each other anymore after that day. It takes three weeks until Athos asks Aramis the question again. And he only does so because it unexpectedly is Aramis who supports him when he shakily stands up to walk home from the tavern. D'Artagnan obviously is gone on strike. Or maybe it is some doing of Constance. He doesn't care.

"Why didn't you do anything?" he wants to know. He grips Aramis' shoulders, shoves him against the wall, which is difficult since he also is using Aramis to keep his equilibrium. Aramis only looks at him and Athos notices the dark shadows under the other man's eyes, but he doesn't care.

"Why?" he repeats.

Again Aramis seemingly wants to keep silent but Athos' hands grip his shoulders even harder. It must hurt. It is supposed to hurt.

"WHY?" he yells and finally gets an answer.

"His arm was severed, but there was too little blood. He was too quiet. He should have screamed, but he was silent. He already was dead before he lost the arm."

The words hit Athos like a punch in the gut and he gets sick. He doesn't manage to turn to the side in time and vomits on Aramis' boots.

"You should go home," the other man just says. "You need to sleep."

Athos nods but doesn't say anything, not even about Aramis accompanying him on his way. In the end they both don't sleep, just sit on Athos' bed next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, waiting in silence for the next day to start.

Sometime they will talk to each other, maybe even about Porthos. But not today. 

* * *

… _bound by love, unbound by flesh..._

"D'Artagnan!"

Athos can hear Aramis panicked shout and tries to turn around, but the rapier of his opponent prevents it. They have already won the battle, the Spaniards already on retreat, but the remaining soldiers don't want to get captured but rather die in battle. Athos obliges begrudgingly.

"D'Artagnan!"

Again Aramis' voice, this time not so loud and closer. When Athos finally can follow it with his eyes he can see him no more than twenty yards away, leaning over a body. His heart stops a beat, but his feet still start to move.

He sees the blood even before he has reached his brothers. It finds its way out of d'Artagnan's stomach and in between his and Aramis' fingers. It is a lot of blood. Too much of it.

"Everything's going to be fine. You'll be fine!" he can hear Aramis say.

"Didn'... see...'t," d'Artagnan splutters and Aramis shakes his head.

"Shh! Don't speak. You need to rest. Stay calm." But of course d'Artagnan isn't listening to him.

"Ath's?" he asks and Athos is close enough to answer himself.

"I'm here!" he kneels next to the two men, his hand finding d'Artagnan's shoulder and he softly squeezes it. "It's okay. Everything's going to be alright."

He knows that he is lying. And he knows that d'Artagnan knows it too. If everything was going to be alright, Aramis would start bandaging him up. He would call for a stretcher, his medical kit and spirits.

"'s c'ld," d'Artagnan mumbles, "c'ld."

"I know," Aramis says softly and his hand now curls more around d'Artagnan's fingers than pressing on the wound. It would be useless anyway, only delaying the inevitable and causing more pain than necessary. "Athos is giving you his coat."

He does as he is told, shrugs off his doublet and lays it over d'Artagnan's upper body. He gently strokes through his hair, murmurs some reassuring words. The boy's face is covered with a sheen of sweat, the brow furrowed, his breathing labored. He has to be in agony, but nonetheless Athos finds himself not wanting to let him go.

"P'th's?" d'Artagnan now asks and Athos can see Aramis flinch, but only for a moment. Then he forces a smile back on is face, that maybe even is able to deceive d'Artagnan in his condition.

"He'll be here soon. He's just getting a blanket for you. Don't worry."

"'m afr'd!" the boy mumbles and Athos pushes his fingers a little deeper into the youth's hair. There is a weight on his chest that makes it difficult to breath. He can hear Aramis' voice also starting to tremble.

"Shh! You don't need to be afraid. You are not alone."

"You never told us about spring in Gascony," Athos suddenly hears himself say and the boy seems to be confused, but then his features relax.

"Yell'w... all's yell'w. Gorse bush's...sun...ligh','lthough it r'ns..."

Aramis nods. "That sounds nice," he whispers. Athos can see the tears in his eyes.

"Sho' C'nst'nce?"

Aramis doesn't answer and Athos gently strokes over d'Artagnan's head, waits until the other's eyes find his and he looks at him.

"For sure. She will love it," he says and really doesn't know where he finds the strength not to let his voice break.

It doesn't take long until d'Artagnan's eyes turn blank. Athos gently presses them closed. Thus the boy looks almost as if sleeping. He seems peaceful and young, still a lot too young.

He notices Aramis still clutching the boy's hands and cautiously tries to remove the other's grip.

"I couldn't do anything," Aramis mutters and his fingers close even harder around d'Artagnan's. Athos can see his knuckles standing out white. "I couldn't do anything."

"I know," he confirms, because he really knows.

"His wound... his stomach. They have...everything was open...it...I couldn't..."

"I know!" Athos repeats, a little louder this time, and grabs Aramis' wrists hard.

"You need to let go, Aramis. Let him go!"

The other man shakes his head. "No...no, I can't. He didn't have a priest...Why wasn't there a damn priest?"

"We are on a battle field," Athos explains mildly and for a short moment he is grateful that the battle is over. That they had the luxury of being able to take leave of their friend, that d'Artagnan didn't need to bleed to death alone somewhere in the turmoil. "We can take him to a priest now, if you like. We can..." 'bury him with dignity' are the words that won't come out of his mouth on no account.

"I couldn't do anything," Aramis repeats again, as if he hadn't heard Athos' words, but he suddenly looks at him. "I'm so sorry!"

And Athos knows that he doesn't mean only d'Artagnan but also Porthos. He doesn't know what to say, knows that there isn't anything to say.

He lets go of Aramis' wrists and instead lays an arm around his shoulders and pulls him towards himself. He will hold him. As long as Aramis lets him.

* * *

 _...this is for those who have gone before..._

He gazes after the men when they ride through the garrison's gate and shoves away the bad feeling that has spread inside him since they got the order for this mission. 'It's going to be alright' he silently says to himself and that Aramis is predestined for this task, that it was the right decision to send him on this mission.

It is just that it is hard for him to let the other man out of his sight for long since they are only two anymore. That of course is totally absurd, because they are not really only two. But there just wasn't anybody able to fill the gap Porthos and d'Artagnan have left.

And thus Athos stays behind feeling a bit queasy whenever Aramis is riding out of the garrison without him. But being the captain now he can't go on every mission anymore. His place is here.

'Ten days' Athos thinks 'only ten days'.

It takes three days on horse to Orleans, but the way back will be slower as they'll need to adjust their pace to the carriage.

It's a simple mission, mostly at least. They will accompany a distant cousin of the king to Paris because there are rumors of the plague close to Orleans. Some villages already have been put under quarantine and the king fears for the safety of his relatives.

Time and again Athos tells himself that Aramis has more medical knowledge than most of the physicians he has met so far. He knows what he is doing. He will bring the men and the king's cousin back home safely.

When after ten days the men reach Paris with a tired but healthy cousin it doesn't take Athos longer than ten seconds to realize that three are missing.

"Where is Aramis? Where are Pierre and Luc?"

The addressed, Matthieu, flinches and Athos realizes that he did yell, but he can't change this now.

"Luc...he is...he got sick. Aramis did stay with him. And Pierre with Aramis."

"Where?" Athos asks "WHERE?" when Matthieu doesn't answer fast enough.

"Two days from Orleans. Luc had a fever and fell from his horse. Aramis ordered us to go on as fast as possible. We thought...we were afraid, but none of us got sick."

It is hard to get the king to allow him to search for his men and for a moment Athos even ponders desertion. Of all people it is the cousin that convinces the king by praising the courage and commitment of the Musketeers on her journey and wishing to know more about the fate of the ones staying behind. Athos is infinitely grateful.

He leaves with two others, none of them daring to question the speed with which he is riding. Changing the horses repeatedly and stopping for breaks as short as possible they reach their destination in less than two days.

It is an inn only a couple of miles from Orleans. Matthieu told Athos that Aramis was planning to look for help here. But he also knows that help is scarce in times of the black death. The risk of infection is too high.

The innkeeper looks at him wide-eyed and Athos is sure that he is hiding something. He is too tired for bargaining and doesn't bother about the protests behind him when he presses the innkeeper against the wall and a dagger at his throat.

"What happened?"

"He...he asked for water...and linen and a room...," the innkeeper stammers, but he's talking. "The sick one had a fever...I didn't want...you know what's happening here. The neighbor village...I thought if it is THIS...I..."

"What happened?"

The innkeeper sighs and Athos presses the dagger harder against his throat. He needs to know what happened. Needs to know where Aramis is. Time is running out.

"I let them rest in the barn...and then... we have instructions to report any suspicious illness. We did..."

"Whom? Report to whom?"

"To the soldiers. Those who are controlling the quarantine..."

The dagger in his hand suddenly turns heavy. The innkeeper keeps talking but he isn't listening anymore, he knows already what he will say. They've come to get them. Aramis and Luc and Pierre. They will have brought them to one of the plague villages. Or shot them immediately.

"Where?" he asks although he has removed the dagger long ago.

"Vennecy."

He can't force his two companions to come with him and he doesn't, but they follow him nonetheless. There aren't many people who want to get into a closed off village plagued by the black death. The soldiers guarding the village make it clear that once they go in they can't leave anymore. Athos orders his companions to stay behind. They look at him strangely but don't say anything.

The village is a silent chaos. He can't see anyone on the single road, but he sees broken crockery, a upend chest, a damaged bucket.

He follows the road up to the church. It only is a small house of prayer, but his instincts were right. When he gets closer to the heavy double wing door he is greeted by a priest.

"Welcome. Although it seems to me that you got lost," the man says.

His temples are gray and he seems to be exhausted, but his dark eyes are alert and cordial.

"I am looking for someone," Athos explains. "He...a friend."

The priest looks him over intently. "We brought the sick inside the church. Do you want to...?"

Athos nods. "As far as I know he was with a sick when he was brought here...he as some medical knowledge, maybe...possibly..."

The priest seems to understand immediately. "You mean Aramis?" he asks and Athos is almost relieved, but when he nods he can see the eyes of the priest becloud.

"I am so sorry," Athos hears him say and something inside of him cramps. No. No, this couldn't be true. It just were a couple of days, just a couple of days.

The priest looks at him expectantly and Athos realizes that he probably said something to him.

"Would you follow me?" he repeats and Athos nods.

The priest leads him behind the church to a small extension. Inside are tables and on the tables bodies covered with sheets.

"We try to bury them as fast as we can. It is... it is supposed to help stop the spreading, or so I've heard. It probably is just a small comfort to you, but" he goes to one of the bodies and lifts the sheet, "he died just this night, so you can bid farewell."

Athos doesn't look when the priest steps away from the table. He can't. Because it is possible that it is really Aramis who's laying there, and then it would be real. Then he would have let his friend, his brother, die miles away from Paris, alone. And he just can't come to terms with this.

The priest seems to notice his hesitation.

"There have been three of them," he starts to tell, "but the boy was severely wounded, the soldiers shot him. He only had a couple of hours left."

He is talking about Pierre, one of the new recruits, who was hovering near Aramis since he arrived at the garrison. At first Aramis had tried to dissuade him, but the boy showed talent in stitching wounds and brewing healing potions and so Aramis decided to train him to be his successor.

"I am not immortal," he explained to Athos when he had asked him for a reason for a successor. "We are not immortal. This should have penetrated even into your thick skull by now." After this he never again doubted Aramis` decision.

"The other man already showed symptoms of the black death, there was nothing we could do to save him."

"And Aramis?" Athos wants to know and the priest sighs.

"He got the fever during the night, even the typical marks could be seen. It...it was fast. I think...I think your friend was ready to go to God."

"No! No, surely not!" Aramis did fight. He always had fought and he would have never stopped.

"If you say so, monsieur. I'll leave you alone now." The priest presses something into his hand when he leaves and Athos fingers curl around the cross his friend had cherished like a treasure.

When he is alone he finally finds the strength to look up and the last bit of hope shatters like falling glass.

"I am so sorry," he whispers while looking at Aramis' calm face. The eyes are closed and only a small dark smudge at his neck is proof of the illness. Athos can almost believe that he is only sleeping, but he knows that Aramis is never this peaceful in sleep, that he is always haunted by his demons. Had been haunted, he corrects himself. Maybe the priest was right. Maybe Aramis has been ready to go. But he isn't ready to let him go.

"I am sorry," he whispers again and his fingers curl around the cross so hard that it hurts. "But it isn't fair, you leaving like this. You can't do this to me. Please, Aramis, please!" But Aramis doesn't take pity on him.

At sometime he hears somebody clearing his throat behind him, the priest is back, the gravedigger in tow. He realizes that he can't take Aramis with him and the thought that his brother will be hastily buried in some hole far away from home almost brings him to his knees.

"He will get a dignified burial," the priest guesses his thoughts, but Athos can't find anything dignified enough for Aramis at this place. But there is nothing he can change about this, almost nothing. He looks at the piece of jewelry in his hand.

He pulls the sheet farther down, loops the beaded necklace around Aramis' wrist and puts the cross between his folded hands. Then he turns to the priest.

"We can begin," he whispers. 

* * *

_...we all lose one another along the way."_

The winter this year is colder than ever before. The city and the life within are freezing. People die. Hunger and cold rage mercilessly and every morning a wagon is hauled through the streets to collect the dead. It is like the plague.

Protest is stirring. The poor are not ready to accept a fate of agonizing death. There are riots. Market stalls and shops are looted, carriages assailed, rich citizens robbed. The king is indignant and at the same time deaf to the pleas of his subjects. He forbids free handouts and insists that paying already for two regiments has to be enough to adhere to order and safety in the city.

The patrols are intensified. On the market in front of Notre Dame there are almost more soldiers than market stalls this morning.

Athos rubs one hand against the other and continuously steps from one foot to the other, but he is still cold. He is asking himself why he is doing this to himself, being the captain there is no-one who could reproach him for sitting in his warm office doing paperwork instead. But he knows that it is taking part at these missions that earns him the respect of his men, the fact that he demands the same of himself as he demands of them.

But he isn't sure how long he will be able to do this. His bones get weary, he can feel it. His sword hand isn't as unerring as it used to be, his feet not as fast anymore.

He has stopped drinking. His body isn't able to tolerate the liquor as easily as some years ago. Besides there is no-one to support him on his way home anymore. At first he thought that his being sober would rob him of his sleep, but the demons are no longer as clear and sharp-edged, their horrors worn-out. They are there, every night, but now he calls them by name, addresses them and talks to them. Maybe this is some kind of madness, maybe wisdom, he doesn't know. He would ask Aramis if he could, but that probably will still be a while.

He goes some steps to drive off the cold in his limbs. Aside from two vendors the market is almost empty. He spies a boy, not older than ten years, who eyes a bread. He doesn't look as if he is able to pay for it.

"'Get you gone!" the baker snarls, probably thinking the same.

"Please, I am hungry," the boy tries, but the baker shrugs.

"They all are. Now go, before I call the soldiers!"

Athos pities the boy. He looks as if he hasn't had something to eat for a while now. But he knows that he can't help him. It isn't only this boy, there are hundreds, thousands and he can't help all of them. Still it is hard to move when he sees the boy grabbing the bread and starting to run. But this is his job and he can't make an exception. If he makes one, more will follow.

He follows the boy into an alley, catches up with him and holds him at the shoulder.

"Give me the bread, boy. Now, and I'll let you go!" he prompts.

"No!" The boy wrests himself free and when Athos manages to grab him again the boy bites his hand. Athos yelps but doesn't let go. The bread falls to the ground and the boy fidgets in his grip. It is an uneven fight, but since Athos doesn't want to hurt the boy, it isn't going as good as it could be. Suddenly a shot can be heard and Athos swears inwardly. Hopefully none of his men had fired the shot, it was just a boy after all.

But then he notices the pain in his side and something warm trailing down his body. His arms suddenly sag and the boy frees himself.

Another shot, this time Athos can feel immediately how an invisible force hits his back and pushes him to the ground.

"You killed him!" he can hear a panicked voice.

"Come on! Get the bread and let's go!"

He can't see who's talking. He only sees gray sky above him. Clouds promising snow.

He hears the footsteps trailing off, then it is quiet. He is cold and warm both at the same time. He realizes that he needs to get up, needs to leave the alley where his men obviously can't find him. But he isn't able to move.

When he closes his eyes he is asking himself what will be waiting for him at the other side. Hopefully his brothers, all of them.

He wants to be home at last. 

-END-

* * *

notes:

 _Lyrics by Jason Collen from "We all lose one another along the way"_

"Say farewell brothers..." is one German version (Nehmt Abschied Brüder) of "Auld Lang Syne".


End file.
